The Side Effects of You (14 page)

“Good night.” We kissed again, and then he shut my door.

He stood there until I pulled out of the parking lot. In my rearview mirror, I saw him head back into his building.

I think I'm in love
, was my last thought before I dialed Sam.

I sat there, pushing my rice around with my fork, wondering if this would be our last meal together. I had it on the tip of my tongue to tell him, but I couldn't get it out.

“You know, we could have gone somewhere else,” Ethan said, interrupting my thoughts. “I brought you here only because I figured you wanted to get out and try something different.”

“I'm sorry, Ethan. The food is fine. I just have something heavy on my mind.”

“Talk to me, babe. I mean, the past couple of days have been awkward. You are becoming distant. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby, no. You are perfect. It's me.”

“I've heard the ‘It's me, not you' speech before, Sam. I mean, what's really going on? Are you no longer interested? Did I come on too strong? If so, I told you I'm willing to slow it down.”

“Listen, I'll tell you everything, okay? Let's just eat and go to my place, and I'll tell you the truth.”

“Okay.”

Thirty minutes later, we were in his car, headed to my place. My stomach was in knots. I felt like a kid who knew it was ass-whipping time after having misbehaved. I almost felt sick, like I would throw up. Was Ethan the one? Was this relationship serious enough to share this with him? That wasn't the question. The reality was that it was better to tell him before we got closer, before he said the three magic words.

We walked into my place, and I took his coat and hung it up. I offered him a seat on the sofa, and I went to change out of my dress and heels and into something more comfortable. Once I had changed, I went into the kitchen and popped open a bottle of white wine, but then I took two shots of tequila before I joined him.

“So what is it, Sam? Talk to me.”

I swallowed hard. “Well, you know I was married once, to my ex, Charles, right?”

“Yes, and you told me you two had had a bad breakup.”

“Yes. It was because he cheated on me.”

“Yes, I remember you telling me that.”

Now shaking, I continued. “Well, what I didn't tell you is . . .” I paused. Everything stopped, and it felt like my ears were filled with cotton. All I could hear was my pounding heart. I was terrified to say what had to be said, but I struggled to find the courage to be honest.

“Sam, come on. Tell me.”

My eyes welled up, and I wiped them. I didn't want him to feel sorry for me. “I didn't tell you that he gave me herpes.” I put my head down and waited for the outburst, but it never came.

“Oh,” was all he said.

“I have never told a soul, and I'm telling you only because I like you, Ethan, and I can't have sex with you, knowing I have this, and not tell you.”

He cleared his throat. “That was heavy, and I can see why you were terrified to tell me.”

“Yes, and I understand if you never want to see me again. It won't offend me or anything, Ethan.”

“Well, that's nice to know, but that's not a deal breaker for me.”

I raised my head and looked at him. “It's not?”

“No, and although it's a lot to swallow, and I've never had a person tell me anything like this before, I'm not going to run. I like you, Sam, and I do know that this is a virus that is incurable, but I'm also educated enough to know that there are precautionary measures we can take. We just have to be educated about it. Is this the reason you've been alone for so long? Why you don't or haven't dated?”

“I'm afraid it is. I didn't want to get close to anyone or start a relationship with anyone with this horrible defect.”

“Let me ask you this. How do you feel? Are you taking care of yourself? I mean, what's it like?”

“Well, I'm fine. I mean, I feel fine. I haven't had an outbreak, as they call them, in over two years. My diet is right. I'm hardly ever sick, and I've only experienced an outbreak twice—when I found out I had it and then a couple of years ago. The crazy thing is my ex denies having it. He denies giving it to me.”

“Was he tested?”

“Yes, and the doctor said he was clean, but I thought for sure he was scamming me.”

“So did you ever cheat on him?”

Surprised that he would ask me this, I raised a brow. “No, never.”

“Well, maybe you had it before you got married.”

“I've never had a symptom.”

“I don't know, but what I do know is I plan to get all the information I can about it. Don't worry about me, Sam.” He kissed my forehead and pulled me close. “Thank you for being honest with me and giving me the option to make up my own mind about us. There are a lot of people out there who never would have said anything and would have just passed it along, so thank you.”

“I like you so much, Ethan, and I want to be intimate with you, and it was killing me, so I had to tell you, even if it meant I'd lose you. I just never wanted anyone to know that about me. It's embarrassing.”

“Well, I'm a grown man, and even if it had sent me running, I'm mature enough to keep your business to myself. No way would I have shared that with anyone.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Ethan. You have no idea how much better I feel.”

“I can only imagine.” He kissed my head again and held me.

He spent the night with me, just holding me, and the next morning, he gave me a tender kiss good-bye. All was good until my phone calls and text messages went unanswered the next day. I frowned and figured he had had a change of heart. It was obvious he really couldn't live with my condition, and I wasn't even angry with him. It was nice while it lasted. I had to move on.

“Thank you, Lord,” I said aloud at Sunday's service.

I sat in the front, where I normally sat, in the seat that was reserved for the head pastor's wife. I rose to my feet and praised my God and asked Him to free me from the drama and confusion I had going on with Jeremiah, and to forgive me for the adulterous acts I had going on with Quentin.

He and I were close again, and we made love as often as we could. I knew I was wrong, but I was in love with him. I couldn't resist him, and I prayed and asked God to have mercy on me. I knew God didn't excuse sins, so there was no way for me to dare ask Him to consider how I felt, because, truthfully, that didn't matter. Doing right by the Lord was the way we were supposed to live.

“Ain't God all right?” my scandalous husband sang. “God is a good God.” The congregation shouted their amens, hallelujahs, and thank-yous.

I was in the spirit, and not under Jeremiah's spell, so every time our eyes met, I rolled mine at him.

Jeremiah went on. “Please, please, please, everyone, take a seat. I am just overjoyed right now, and every time I look over at my beautiful wife, the spirit speaks to me, and I just have to hear her angelic voice. My first lady, my love, my heart, my everything, Mrs. Andrea Rochelle Young, please come up here and bless our congregation with a song.”

Everyone applauded.

I used to sing a lot at our church, but I hadn't sung in a while. I gave Jeremiah a look.

“Come on, baby. I know I've put you on the spot, but you need to bless us with that beautiful voice of yours,” he said.

I headed over to the spare mic and took it from the stand. “Praised the Lord, church.” I said. Looking out at everyone, I felt horrible. I stood before all these members under the leadership of my tainted husband, and all I wanted to do was warn everyone. “Pastor Young put me on the spot, and I'm going to get him later for that.” The children of Christ laughed. “But there is a song on my heart that I'd like to sing.” I was a huge Mary Mary fan, and “Yesterday” was one of my favorites. I loved Erica's and Tina's voices, but God had given me a set of chords that allowed me to smoke their song.

I opened my mouth to sing, and immediately the musicians caught on to what I was singing and came right in. I sang that song better than I'd ever sung it, and the members of the congregation were on their feet, praising and shouting by the time I was done. I placed the mic back on its stand and made my way back to my seat, and Jeremiah took over. He started twitching and doing head shakes. When he started to do his holy dance, the musicians started to play and let Pastor Young do his dance. They kept the music going until he stood in front of the podium, removed his glasses, and wiped his sweat with his handkerchief.

“Yes, yes, yes. I want to say thank you to my beautiful wife. Y'all heard that voice, right? The voice of an angel. This woman of God right there . . .” He pointed to me. “She is truly a gift. That song, baby . . .” He did a spin. “Praise Gawwwddd!” he yelled. “I thank God for our first lady, y'all.”

The church applauded.

“No, no, no. Stand up, baby,” he said to me, and I stood. “Ain't she beautiful, y'all?” he said. The church applauded and agreed. Jeremiah had never gone that far. “I just have to tell the world how much I love her and how I know I'm blessed. He that findeth a wife findeth a good thang!” he yelled. “Beautiful, a beautiful voice, and the mother of my wonderful children. I'm so blessed.”

I sat without him telling me and kept my eyes on him. By the time he closed out and gave the benediction, I was about ready to vomit. He had put on this show like we were fine, in love, and great and happy, which was all a lie.

About ten minutes later, we stood at the door and greeted our members, as we usually did. When Franklin's wife approached, I got nervous.

“First Lady Young, how nice, and Pastor Young.” She smiled.

Jeremiah spoke up before me. “Greetings, Sister. We are well. Brother Franklin assured me that you two are just as well.”

“Yes, sir. We are great. And, First Lady Young, all is water under the bridge. I misjudged.” I could see the fear behind her fake smile. “You two have a good day.” She hurried off.

“Really, Jeremiah?” I said.

He smiled and waved at a couple of members as he spoke through his teeth. “Let it go, Ann. She is crazy. We are fine.”

I didn't argue. I just continued to smile for the members. “So will you be home for dinner?” I murmured under my breath

“I will. As a matter of fact, a few of the deacons will be by, so cook enough, and then I may have to leave for a couple of hours.”

“For what? When are you going to spend time with your beautiful wife, Jeremiah, huh? The one God blessed you with?” I was just calling him on the performance he had just put on in service. I couldn't care less if he had somewhere to creep off to. I was over him.

“Ann ...”

“Never mind.” I left it alone.

I was cool with it, because ten minutes after he left to meet Franklin, I headed out to meet Quentin. I wasn't lonely anymore, so it didn't matter.

When I opened my front door to head out to the restaurant, I was shocked to see Charles standing there. He was last person I expected to see, and I wondered why he was at my house.

“Charles, what are you doing here?”

With a sad expression on his face, he just looked at me.

“Charles, what's wrong? What happened?”

“It's my mom. She . . . she . . . she . . .” He fell into me, almost knocking me down.

I struggled to help him inside. I managed to get him to the couch in the living room, and he fell over on his side and sobbed. He didn't have to say it. I knew she had died. I sat on the edge of the coffee table and let him cry. I let a few tears fall, because although his mom and I hadn't been really close, we had still talked and I had gone to see her often. Collette had been an active woman, so this news was a shock. I hadn't known she was ill at all.

A few minutes later I moved from the coffee table and sat next to Charles on the couch, and his head ended up in my lap. I just rubbed his head to comfort him. Once he had relaxed a bit, I asked, “Charles, what happened?”

He sniffled and then sat up. He did a few wipes of his face, and it still took him a few moments to tell me. “She, um, um, had a stroke in her chair, and then she had a heart attack.” He sniffled more. Tears continued to roll down his face. I'd never seen my husband—I mean my ex-husband—cry so hard. “I tried calling her yesterday morning on my way to work, like I normally did, and I didn't get an answer. I went on to work, not thinking anything of it, and at lunch, I texted her. She didn't reply, and that was odd, because we had texted and talked often, you know, since Dad passed a couple of years ago.” He shook his head.

“I kept asking her to come stay with me, but she resisted,” he cried. He paused for a few moments. “She'd say, ‘Son, I am a grown-ass woman, and I need my privacy. I can't be living with my grown son.'” He chuckled a little bit. “Anyway, I decided to go by her place after work. She was in her chair, cold as ice. She had been dead for over twenty hours, Sam, in her chair. I should have gone by earlier. I found my mother dead, Sam.” He wept.

All I could do was comfort him. I knew it was hard, because Charles was a mama's boy. He and his mom had been super close. “Let me call the restaurant.”

“No, no, no. I don't want to keep you from work.”

“Charles, it's okay. You shouldn't be alone.”

I got my phone and went to get him a stiff drink. While I poured his drink, I called my assistant manager, Patrice, and she said she was happy to fill in for me. I went back to the living room and handed Charles a double shot of Crown.

“I just can't swallow it. Daddy was sick. He had all kinds of things going on with him, and I have wondered how he lived as long as he did. But Mom was in good health. I mean, she took care of herself. She still walked with her neighbors and swam. I don't understand.”

“Baby, don't try. Don't do that to yourself. We can never understand death, so don't try to.”

“I know, Sam, but it hurts like a motherfucker. I mean, I didn't say good-bye. I did say, ‘I love you,' the evening before, and Mom knew I loved her. I just wonder if she was in pain. Did she call out for me? Did she need me, and I wasn't there?” he cried.

My eyes welled up again. “Baby, listen,” I said and took his glass. “That isn't your job, okay? You are going to worry yourself to death with those kinds of questions. God was with her.” I got up to refill his glass.

“Can you go with me to do the arrangements? I can't do it by myself, Sam.”

“Sure, sure, Charles. Whatever you need.” I hated that he wasn't with the other woman, because now he depended on me to be by his side. I didn't hate Charles—not anymore—but I didn't want to be the one who had to pretend to be his wife. I knew he was going to need me, but I had enough going on. My boyfriend had disappeared on me after pretending to be okay with my secret. I didn't need Charles all off in my space.

“I'm going to run up and change, and then we can head out,” I told him.

“Okay.” He nodded.

I ran upstairs and put on a pair of jeans and a sweater. Since I'd been on my way to work when I found Charles on my doorstep, I had glammed up, so my makeup and hair were done. When I went back downstairs, he was lying back on the couch with one hand over his head.

“I'm ready,” I announced.

He jumped a little and sat up. “Wow, Sammie. You are so beautiful. Your new look really fits you. It looks really nice on you,” he said, as if he hadn't noticed me before I'd gone up to change.

“Thanks, Charles,” I said and looked away.

“I didn't mean to make you feel awkward.”

“I'm fine.” I smiled. “We should go.”

He stood. “Let me use the bathroom really quick.”

I nodded. I stood near the front door, and a few moments later, we were headed to the funeral home. Charles wanted the best of everything, and I kept reeling him back in. His mother wouldn't have wanted him to spend so much on her funeral. She wasn't flashy; she was classy.

“Thank you, Sam,” he said when we got back into the car.

“You're welcome.”

“I mean, no way I could have done any of this without you.”

“It's no big deal, Charles. This is a difficult moment and a hard thing to go through alone.”

“Yes, it is,” he said.

I wondered where we were going next, because he wasn't heading back to my house. “Where are we heading to now?”

“The house. You heard them. We have to bring Mom's clothes and shoes to them tomorrow. You know I can't do that alone.” He sighed.

I agreed. “Okay. I'll go with you.” I rubbed the back of his hand, and he looked over at me and smiled. “What?”

“You were a great woman, Sam. I don't want to talk about us, because I don't want to piss you off, but I never broke any vows. I worked long and hard, yes, but I swear to you, on my Mom, that I never stepped out on you.”

My heart stopped, and my eyes welled up. I believed him. Charles loved his mom more than me, and he'd never say such strong words if he didn't mean them.

“Charles . . .” I looked at him.

“I didn't, Sam. I didn't give you herpes. I don't understand for the life of me how I never contracted it, but I didn't. I tried so hard to prove to you that I didn't cheat, but you just . . . you just . . .”

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

“Sam, I loved you. Our marriage wasn't perfect or fairy tale–like, but I was happy.”

“I'm sorry,” I said again.

He squeezed my hand, and we rode the rest of the way in silence. When we got to his mom's house, we sat in the driveway for a while.

“If you're not ready, I'll go in alone. I know where everything is,” I told him.

He took a few cleansing breaths and turned off the engine. “I'm okay.”

He got out, and I grabbed his hand. We walked up to the door, and his hand shook so badly, he couldn't get the key in the keyhole. I did it for him and unlocked the door.

“Charles, baby. Really, we don't have to do this tonight. I'll come back with you tomorrow,” I said as he stood frozen on the threshold, trying to will himself to enter his mother's home.

“Okay, okay.” He sobbed.

I locked the door, and we went back to the car.

“I'll drive,” I offered. He didn't resist.

A few minutes later we were back on the road. Silence enveloped the car, as we were both lost in thought.

“Can you stay with me tonight?” he asked out of the blue. I was fifteen minutes from home and hadn't expected to hear him ask me that.

Thinking it was not a good idea for him to be alone, I said. “Sure. What way do I go?”

As we went, he gave me a few instructions, telling me where to turn. When we finally pulled up to his home, my jaw dropped. I suddenly thought I needed to ask for more alimony.

“This is your house?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said and opened the car door. I got out and followed him to the front door. It was a keyless entrance. He keyed in a code, and when we walked in, lights started to come on by themselves.

I looked around. His place was amazing.

“So,” I said, “I think you're not paying me enough alimony, dear.”

“What? If I kept the money from the alimony checks, I could work three days a week instead of six.” He laughed. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“You wanna order something? You know I'm not a cook. I have every take-out place on speed dial.”

“What do you have? I can cook.”

“No. You need to relax. We've had quite a day. There is a great Italian place that delivers. Here is one of their menus.” He pulled an actual menu from one of the kitchen drawers, not a paper menu.

“Did you steal this menu?” I asked.

“No. I frequent the place, since, as you know, that last so-called relationship was a bust, so I asked for a real menu from all my favorite places.”

I looked over the menu and decided on the chicken marsala. Charles called in our order and then offered me a pair of new boxers and a tank to get comfortable in while we waited. I decided to take a shower first and went into the master bathroom. When I was naked and ready to get in the shower, I realized I had no idea how to turn it on. There were buttons everywhere. I looked around and grabbed a towel and called for Charles to come help me.

He got the shower going, and when he left the bathroom, he didn't shut the door. He talked to me from his adjoining bedroom, so I guessed that was a sign for me not to shut the door myself. While I was enjoying the hot water running over my skin, he came back into the bathroom and opened a drawer, looking for something.

“Charles,” I yelled.

“Yeah?” he said, looking at me.

“I'm in the shower.”

“And I've seen, touched, and tasted all of you, so relax.” He smiled.

When I was done showering, I had to call for him and ask him to turn off the water. He reached past me to push some buttons while I tried to cover my breasts with my hands. He smiled, and I couldn't help but smile back at him.

Once he had turned off the water, he pointed out the lotion on the counter, and since he didn't have any women's deodorant, he told me I could use his. I had shaved in the shower and it set my underarms on fire. I was freshly showered, my skin was silky from the Bistro Body Butter he gave me to use, and I had on a fresh new pair of cotton boxers and a fresh tank. He gave me a pair of socks for my feet, and I felt at home.

“Let me give you a quick tour, and then I'll shower,” he announced when I was dressed.

He showed me around, and with the click of a couple of buttons, the fireplace came on and the sexy sounds of Joe began playing softly over the sound system.

“If the food comes before I'm out of the shower, the code for the alarm is zero-four-eleven-seventy-five. You have to disarm the alarm before opening the door,” he told me.

“My birthday?”

“Yes.” He smiled, and then he left me there.

I looked around. Everything had buttons. I went into the open kitchen, and my eyes lit up when I saw the wine cooler. I had plans to remodel my kitchen one day, and this was one of my must-haves. I grabbed a bottle of white, and the label spoke for itself. Top notch. My mouth watered. I looked around, and not far from the cooler was an electric wine bottle opener. I grabbed it and opened the bottle. It took me a few seconds to find the glasses. I poured a glass and went over to look at some of the photos Charles had on display.

He had some of relatives, a lot of pictures of his parents, and more than a couple of me. I picked up one of me and him and smiled. I remembered the day we had taken it.

The doorbell chimed suddenly, and I jumped. I put the picture back, set my glass down, and went to answer to the door. I remembered to key in the code on the alarm panel before I opened the door. I got the food and asked how much it was. The deliveryman said the bill had already been taken care of.

I took the packages into the kitchen and got a couple of plates from the cabinet. Charles came in a moment later and parked at the island while I fixed our plates.

“Wine?” I asked him.

“Yes, please.”

“Can you grab my glass from over there?” I gave a head nod. The glass was right by our photo.

“You remember when we took this?”

“I do.” I smiled. “It was the day after you graduated, with your master's.”

“Yep. We went to that Japanese spot with my parents and had to sit on the floor. Dad complained the entire time 'bout his back, his knees.”

“Yes, and I remember Mom saying, ‘Larry, if you can't walk out, we'll roll you out.'” I laughed.

He was silent, and I realized I had brought up his mom.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

He came over with my glass and he then sat down at the island. “It's okay. I have to remember her. Hell, him too. I know this is going in the right order. Kids bury their parents, but it's not easy.”

I placed his plate in front of him. “I know, Charles. It will get easier in time. Just like with Dad.”

“I know.”

I sat with him, and we chatted during dinner. Afterward, we cleared the dishes and cleaned everything together.

While we cleaned, I said, “Why are there so many gadgets? I've never been in a house that needs an instruction manual to live in.” I laughed.